


Dream Catcher

by sunmoonstarsrain



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunmoonstarsrain/pseuds/sunmoonstarsrain
Summary: Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams.He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellations of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laughter, her song to the gods in the wind.(Loosely inspired by 'Your Name', aka Kimi No Nawa, featuring Haikyuu's own pretty Tokyo boy)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Original Female Character(s), Akaashi Keiji/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34





	1. Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crycereuz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crycereuz/gifts).



The first time it happens, Akaashi is in his third year of university. 

The upside of staying in Tokyo for university (his mother cried when he got into Waseda, her alma mater) is that he sees his family almost every weekend for cosy family dinners. The downside of staying in Tokyo for university is that he really has no excuse when his parents insist on carrying on _Hatsumode_ , the first prayer of the new year, at the crack of dawn at the shrine close to their home. It’s not that he minds the tradition per se, but he did just spend all night rushing his projects just so he could adhere to the unspoken rule that no work should be done during the New Year holidays and spend some time flying kites with his little cousins. 

Still, there is something magical about starting the New Year watching dawn break and the world awaken from its slumber just as he reaches the summit of all twenty six steps to the top of the shrine, shrouded in the bare branches of the wisteria trees. He tosses coins into the box, drops into a deep bow twice, chin at waist level, clapping twice before bowing a final time. His mother buys far too many _omamori_ , presses at least half of them into his unwilling hands when the _omikuji_ he draws has a _great curse_ scribbled on it. He’s not superstitious, so it doesn’t bother him, but he knows his mother is, so he does accept the _omikuji_ with some grace, though he draws the line at the love charm she tries to sneak into the pile. 

‘Mum, I’m too busy at school for a partner’, he tells her firmly. ‘Why don’t you pass it to Yuji-kun, he’s already started work, but hasn’t found a girlfriend from what _Oba-chan_ tells me’. His elder cousin shoots him a particularly malevolent glare that he meets with a placid smile as his mother diverts her attention to him instead.

The faintest shiver runs up his fingers when he deposits the old charm he found in the corner of his closet, grey and faded with time, in the _koshinsatsu osamedokoro_ , the _omamori_ drop off open only during the first day of the New Year. The shiver turns into a ripple of cool water racing up his wrists and roars into an tsunami of dread when the attendant tells him all deposited charms will be burnt in the ritual fire in a fortnight’s time, but he writes it off as a symptom of his lack of sleep and starts to turn away. 

There’s a sudden echo of a nightmare of raging flames that prompts him to swivel around to snatch the _omamori_ and stuff it back in his pocket, muttering apologies to the shocked attendant. Later, when he has time to process his impulse, he’d find it strange. In the meantime however, the festivities wait for no one, so he distracts himself by eating far too much _dango_ and _mochi_ in between rounds of tossing kites up to catch the wind. His uncles slip him full cups of sake and sweetened rice wine to his mother’s disapproval, which in hindsight he should have heeded, as he stumbles to bed that night, head heavy with alcohol. 

That night he dreams of a girl with curly hair, lying in a field of endless gold - _daffodils_ to mark the dawn of spring. 

‘ _Also known as narcissus’_ , he hears himself say, hears himself narrate the myth of a man so entranced by his own reflection in the water that he lost his will when he realizes he cannot have his object of desire. A girlish voice lilts teasingly – ‘ _th_ _e flowers are too pretty to be ruined by your obsession of stories written by grumpy old men’_ . He wakes up with the ghost of laughter on his lips, but there’s a lingering sense of _loss_ budding in the barren soil of his heart. 

It does prompt him to pop by the florist near his parents’ house to order a bouquet of daffodils for his mom to be delivered on the first day of spring. He’s accustomed to the old couple running the shop, so he pauses just for a second when he walks into the store to find a new girl at the counter. She must not be used to customers yet, dropping the bouquet she’s working on when she notices him. 

‘Hi’, she stammers, cheeks pink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to make an advance order for daffodils please.’ 

‘For spring?’ she asks, and he nods, writing down his parents’ address when prompted. ‘That’s a good choice!’ 

She waves him off with a cheerful – ‘please come back again’, and he does not notice that there are stars in her eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

His mother drags him back to the shrine on the third day of the holidays, and he obliges her, ever the dutiful only son, even though the frigid temperature makes his breath puff up into clouds and the tip of his nose turns numb. The old _omamori_ is still snug in his jacket pocket, and as his fingers brush against it, he can feel the threads of the charm unravelling, the fabric almost fragile in its worn, threadbare state but he does not attempt to dispose of it again. 

‘What are you going to do once you’re done with your degree, Keiji?’ His mother asks, when they stop by an old teahouse for a cup of steaming _genmaicha_ , the aroma of roasted rice tea warm against his cold nose. 

‘I intend to apply for a job at a publishing company after I graduate’, he tells her seriously, and she nods, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’m hoping it’s something to do with my major, preferably Japanese literature, better yet if it's poetry, but in this market, I’ll take what I can get’. 

His mother nods, smiling at him fondly. ‘I remember you used to be obsessed with Shakespeare and Greek myths when you were younger, all the way through high school, and your father and I thought that you’d end up majoring in that in university. You really surprised us when you chose to major in Japanese literature instead.’

‘I don’t know why, to be honest. Maybe I had a good Japanese literature tutor?’ He laughs, fiddling with his teacup. 

‘Mm I don’t think so though. I remember you complaining that Raku-sensei was so dull he caused everyone to fall asleep.’ He shrugs, and though she stares at him curiously, she does not pursue the line of conversation any further. 

\---------------------------------------------------

That night he dreams of waking up in an old wooden house, shivering in a thick futon, the smoldering embers from the _irori,_ mere inches from his face. It’s so very different from his childhood bedroom filled with modern appliances and walls of books neatly shelved in alphabetical order, but he doesn’t notice that in the dark. Instead, he reaches for his phone to check the time, bolting awake because _that can’t be, he never misses his_ alarm, mentally calculating that he must leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes to make it in time for practice when a little boy bursts through the door. 

‘ _Nee-chan_ ’, the little boy whines. ‘ _I’m hungry. Time for breakfast_ ’. 

_Did he just say Nee-chan? Scratch that - since when did he have a little brother?_

He scrambles out of bed, groping his way in the dark to the washroom. The cold water should wake him up, but when he looks up at the mirror above the sink, the face he’s staring at does not belong to him. _No_ \- it belongs to a dark eyed girl with curly hair - but it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, because when he reaches a trembling finger to poke at the mirror, he _is_ she or she _is him_ \- 

The ensuing panic and confusion makes him jerk out of his dream, but when he rushes to the washroom to check that he’s still himself, he is relieved to see that it’s still him - Akaashi Keiji, with dark circles around his eyes, staring back in disbelief. 

He chalks his strange dream up to the stress he carries around from trying to clear all his course work so he can audit additional classes over the next term. 

Except the dreams don’t stop, not even when he moves back to the university dorms. He keeps waking up drenched in cold sweat, clutching at his arms even though they’re clear of the scratches he sees in his dreams, red and raw and stretching all the way up his elbows. 

_‘Be kinder to Hana-chan, Keiji-kun’_ , he hears the call of the same girl in his mind and he shudders, unsure whether the disembodied voice floating through his mind is a memory from his dream. ‘ _She’s going through an awfully tough time’_.

‘ _I_ _t doesn’t give her the right to hurt you like that’_ , he can hear his own voice say, faintly disapproving. 

‘ _Never mind that, it’s not a big deal_ . _What are we reading today – don’t tell me it’s anything like Hamlet. That was horrendously depressing.’_

 _‘Midsummer’s Night Dream? It’s a romantic comedy at least._ ’

‘ _Only a nerd like you would read Shakespeare in high school – and it’s not even in Japanese!’_

_‘Hush – you don’t get to complain when I’m reading it out to you.’_

‘What on earth is going on’, he mutters to himself. The copious amounts of frigid water he splashes onto his face is no antidote to this madness.

\---------------------------------------------------

‘Sato-san, are you feeling alright?’ he asks his grimacing classmate in concern, lines of pain etched onto her face. 

‘I’m fine, Akaashi-kun’, she manages to spit out, clutching her stomach with white-knuckled hands. ‘It’ll pass in a bit, I hope’. 

‘Are you sure you’re fine? I could help you to the nurse’s office if that helps’. 

His classmate shakes her head, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s just that time of the month. I apologise if that’s too much information to be polite’. 

Ah. But somehow even though he has no sisters, and his female classmates in high school were oddly reticent about their periods ( _strange, considering it is part and parcel of being a mammal for far more than a millenium_ ) the steps to deal with this particular conundrum come to him so naturally it’s almost as if the answers were presented to him previously in a dream. 

‘Here’, he passes Sato-san painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle he’d managed to talk the university nurse into loaning him, and Sato practically whimpers in gratitude. 

‘You’re a lifesaver, Akaashi-kun’, she tells him and he nods, content that he’s solved the problem so efficiently. 

That night he wakes up in her body again. The room is dark, save for the sliver of white light between the blinds that allows him to discern the growing crimson stain between her legs. 

‘ _Don’t you know all women have to deal with this nonsense every month? But I’ll tell you a trick - painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle will make you feel as right as rain’,_ he hears her voice declare in his mind, and he startles awake to find himself back in his own bed, blessedly clear of any bloodstains. 

_It must be a dream borne out of what happened today_ , he tells himself firmly and shrugs it off. The rest of his slumber is thankfully shorn of dreams. 

\---------------------------------------------------

But then these dreams start to crash into his sleep like a series of never ending waves, and he’s a short hop, skip, jump away from falling off the cliff into a distracted madness, the rate his sleep keeps getting disrupted. He keeps waking up in _her_ body, it makes him feel like a creep, wearing _her_ skin like an ill-fitting glove, and he decided _does not think_ about how strange it feels to have twin lumps of flesh in front of his chest (his mother raised him to be a gentleman, after all). 

The contents of these dreams are relatively cyclical. He wakes up at dawn, puts on her school uniform, makes breakfast for the little boy - _Toya-chan_ over the primitive hearth before rushing to school through dirt paths lined with trees. His - or rather _her_ classmates stare at her with a mix of condescension and apathy, and her hours in school are spent in a lonely silence, save when Hana-chan gets up in her face and screams absolute nonsense about _staying the fuck away from her_ , which seems a little dramatic considering she’s the one doing the confronting, but _it’s just a dream_ , so he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he can change anything about it. 

_‘Does it bother you? That you’re alone?_ ’ he asks her one day. 

‘ _Not really. I have you and Toya-chan, don’t I?’_ she responds. 

_‘I suppose_ ’, he says, voice trailing off. 

He catches glimpses of sun drenched afternoons spent in fields of flowers, glances of dusky evenings spent in the forest basking in the light of the setting sun. He agonizes over stacks of homework, digs for mushrooms in the damp earth, climbs through wire fences to scavenge for eggs in neighbouring farms. 

_‘Aren’t your parents worried about you and Toya-chan?’_ he can hear himself question her one night. 

‘ _My mom is dead and my dad can’t be home often, he works on construction projects around Sapporo. He sends cash to me and Toya-chan, and it isn’t always enough, but he tries his best'_ , she answers, her voice feather light. 

_‘I’m sorry’_ , he tells her a little awkwardly, thinking about his happy family and wondering how it’d feel like to have them torn away from him so early on in life. 

_‘Don’t be’,_ she replies, ‘ _S_ _ometimes I wonder if it’s better to have good parents who’re dead or absent rather than horrible parents who’re still alive’_. 

He jolts awake again, relieved to find himself back in his bed. It’s barely four in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to sleep after _that_ , so he resigns himself to using the time to get cracking on his college assignments anyway. But he makes sure to call his mother once day breaks and he’s sure she’s returned from the market with groceries in tow, telling her awkwardly that he’s just calling to catch up and hopes she’s been well and _ok bye mum I love you very much_ , heart pounding when he hangs up abruptly. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He has a standing appointment on the first Thursday every month to meet Kenma for coffee at a café a stone’s throw away from Waseda. They both order black coffee, which is strange for Kenma considering his legendary sweet tooth, but he knows Kenma too well to know that the ridiculously successful game streamer is only drinking coffee to stay awake, the shadows under his eyes deeper and darker than those under Akaashi’s own eyes. 

‘Doesn’t Kuroo-san nag you go to bed at a decent time?’ 

Kenma doesn’t even bother to flick his eyes up, busy gulping mouthfuls of the bitter liquid. ‘Speak for yourself. Not sleeping well either?’ 

Akaashi shrugs his shoulders helplessly, stirring his coffee. ‘Mm. ‘I’ve been having strange recurring dreams and it’s been affecting my sleep’. 

Kenma merely hums in reply, and Akaashi finds himself spilling out the entire weird series of events – though to be absolutely accurate, his dreams aren’t real so they can’t be events, but they’ve been haunting him for the past month so they might as well be at this rate. He explains about finding himself in the body of a high school girl with curly hair and a dimple on one cheek, how he’s lived her life enough in the past month that he can map out her days with startling certainty, how he knows it’s not real – it can’t be real, but his dreams glimmer with such vibrancy that they feel _real_. 

‘Am I going crazy?’ he asks. 

‘I highly doubt it’, Kenma says, tapping his chin in thought. ‘Maybe it’s like one of those exploration video games where you have to take your time to discover its world to figure out the narrative the game is feeding you.’ 

Trust Kenma to relate everything to video games. 

‘That was singularly unhelpful’, Akaashi says dryly as Kenma chuckles quietly in response. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He is almost afraid to fall asleep again but his eyelids are weighed down by weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and soon he finds himself again in her body. 

It’s a clear winter’s night. He’s huddled under a thick blanket to shield himself from the bitter cold, watching the embers in the hearth glow yellow and gold. 

‘ _It’s late. Can’t sleep?_ ’ 

_‘Mm_ ’ he replies. _‘Wondering what tomorrow will bring._ ’ 

_‘You’re overthinking again, Keiji_ ’, she chuckles. _‘Tomorrow’s going to be just another day. You’ll wake up back in your warm bed at the crack of dawn for volleyball practice, attend classes in your fancy private school, and play even more volleyball with your beloved Bokuto-san_ ’. 

He rolls his eyes heavenwards at her words and her laugh this time is loud, bright. 

_‘You know I only speak the truth. Now, since you need to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep._ ’

 _‘I’m not a child_ ’, he replies dryly, but does not object when she starts to narrate the tale of a princess exiled from the moon, who is raised by a humble woodcutter and his wife to become a renowned beauty, with five suitors seeking her hand. ‘ _That’s mean of her_ ’, he mumbles as she describes how the princess rebuffs her suitors by setting them impossible tasks, drifts to sleep as her voice softens as she describes how the princess falls in love with the Emperor, but breaks both their hearts because she knows she must return to the moon someday. He’s fast asleep when she reaches the ending where the princess leaves all her memories on earth with tears in her eyes, gifting the emperor with an elixir of immortality which he burns, because he declares life isn’t worth living without her. 

_‘Goodnight Keiji_ ’, she says, her voice shimmering in the still night air. 

For the first time in a long while, Akaashi wakes up at peace. 


	2. Lodestar

‘It’s rare to see young men like you buying flowers for their mother’, the florist comments offhand as she wraps his order of yellow chrysanthemums in paper. 

Akaashi smiles, accustomed to the friendly florist by now. ‘I guess I’ve always had a partiality for flowers’, waving to the florist as he leaves to head to Shibuya to meet Bokuto for  _ Izakaya _ . He’s running late, but Bokuto doesn't mind, hooting good naturedly at the comedy show playing on the television in the rundown bar. 

‘Agaaaashi, you made it!’ Bokuto rises from his seat to give him a jovial fist bump. 

‘Of course I did’, he responds dryly. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my appointment with you’. He spends most of dinner listening to Bokuto’s recent exploits both with the national team and MSBY. Excitement still sparkles in the older man’s eyes as he recounts each and every match he’s played in, and Akaashi idly wonders how it is that Bokuto seems to have managed to pack on even more muscle in the short span of a month, the last time they met up was to see Bokuto off at the airport for the World Cup. 

‘You should have continued playing volleyball in university’, Bokuto crows in between mouthfuls of yakiniku and beer and Akaashi shakes his head at the refrain he’s so used to hearing from his  _ senpai _ .

‘I wouldn’t be able to maintain my grades if I wanted to take volleyball seriously in university, plus there’s no guarantee I’d even get off the bench’, he answers self-effacingly. 

‘But you have the best tosses, Akaaaaaashi!!’ Bokuto declares, his words slightly slurred, and Akaashi wonders if he should start to inch Bokuto’s beer away from him. After consuming far too much barbecued meat (Bokuto took the liberty of ordering  _ twice _ of what Akaashi would normally order, waving his protests off by stating grandly that he’ll take care of the bill,  _ he’s the one working after all! _ ), Bokuto slips into a food-drunk stupor, happy to listen to his anecdotes of university life, and he takes the chance to ramble on about his advanced Japanese classical literature course that he finds far more fascinating than his class on modern literature to his best friend. 

They stumble out of the  _ izakaya _ when the line outside grows far too long to be ignored, Bokuto draping a heavy arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the red tint on the tips of his ears betraying his slightly tipsy state. As they stand at the traffic light patiently waiting for the light to change from red to green, Bokuto turns to him and grasps his shoulders in his large, warm hands. 

‘I’m really proud to have you as a friend, Akaashi’, Bokuto tells him seriously. ‘And I’m going to prove to you that I can be the best ace so you can be proud of me too’. The molten gold glimmering in Bokuto’s gaze fills him with far more warmth than any alcohol could possibly achieve. 

‘I’m already proud of you, Bokuto-san’, he answers, his earnestness resounding in every word of his short declaration. Bokuto beams at him in response and bounds across the pedestrian walkway in approximately three strides, ignoring Akaashi’s chiding to ‘look before you cross the road, even if you have the right of way!’

Many things may have changed since high school, but some things still stay the same. 

\---------------------------------------------------

His dreams take a strange turn that night. 

He’s back in the Fukurodani gym with his teammates, but it’s not accurate to say he’s  _ with _ them - rather, he’s watching his past self from afar, seated on the bench, a wrist guard on his right arm. He doesn’t remember ever injuring himself enough to warrant a wrist guard at any point during his high school volleyball career, but it’s probably just another oddity of being in a dream. 

‘I wish your wrist was feeling better, Akaashi. I miss your tosses already’, the pout in Bokuto’s voice pronounced.

‘It’s just for a while - I’ll be right as rain tomorrow!’ he hears himself say cheerfully - but that doesn’t make sense either. No one in their right mind has ever described the way he speaks as  _ cheerful _ , and the rest of his teammates glance over at him curiously. Then his past self awkwardly tucks his legs under the bench, ankles crossed almost as if he’d like nothing better than to fold himself away with all the cloth vests they use for practice – but that doesn’t make sense either, he doesn’t even know why he’s behaving like some fish out of water. While volleyball doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to someone like Bokuto-san, and there are times he feels like he’s struggling to swim upstream, his fingers still itch to toss a ball up into the sky in a perfect arc even now. 

_ ‘I told you, I don’t get what you insist on waxing lyrical on him being a star you can’t help but follow,’  _ he hears  _ her  _ voice chime in his consciousness, inexplicable though her presence in this scene may be, he hears himself answer - ‘ _ just be patient and watch _ ’. 

Anahori, their substitute setter tosses the ball up in the air and it’s a good toss, he will give him that, but it’s still not  _ quite  _ as high a toss that Bokuto likes. Bokuto runs right up to the net to leap into the air, back arching to slam the ball to the ground with such force that it’s a commanding full stop punctuating any doubts about his place on the team as its captain and ace. 

_ ‘You see! When he plays well, he's like a supernova, shining with a light so bright it almost blinds my eyes.’ _

_ ‘Waxing lyrical again, Keiji-kun?’  _ He can hear her tease him gently. ‘ _ Go on, keep up with your celestial metaphors’. _

_ ‘How about a shooting star then’ _ , he replies, amused. ‘ _ If a shooting star shot up from the earth instead of falling from the sky.’  _

_ ‘You sound like you like the guy. Are you sure you don’t?’  _ She asks. ‘ _ You sure sound like you do.’ _

_ What?! _

His legs are tangled in his sheets when he thrashes awake, mouth open in a gasp for air.  _ That  _ was a new twist in his collection of dreams, the first time he’s dreamt of something other than that phantom girl’s life in months, but even when the dreamscape doesn’t even feature  _ her _ , she still manages to invade his dream. 

Worse - his dreams are now edging into territory he hasn’t mapped out in  _ years _ . His teenage infatuation with Bokuto-san died a natural death after he realised that he’d mistaken his admiration for the ace for romantic feelings. Besides, there was no way Bokuto-san would ever be in love with  _ him _ , not when he’d chosen to devote the next decade of his life to his sport. So  _ why  _ are his dreams dragging him deeper into a labyrinth of memories that aren’t even his own?

\---------------------------------------------------

‘ _ Why are you squandering my pocket money in a maid café of all things’  _ he says, sounding uncharacteristically put out. But then again he  _ would  _ be annoyed if anyone managed to drag him into the pink and white monstrosity his dream has deposited him into.

Bokuto’s happily seated across from him ( _ or rather, his past self _ ), exclaiming ‘ _ ooh - isn’t the ketchup art on this omurice amazing, Akaashi? They managed to capture my hair so well! _ ’, and to his horror his past self nods encouragingly and only laughs when Bokuto whines about not wanting to destroy this ‘ _ piece of art the maids took so much time to create _ ’ by eating the damn omurice. 

‘ _ Don’t be such a killjoy, Keiji-kun _ ’, she giggles. ‘ _ Look at him, he’s having such fun, and besides, your day will reset so your money won’t be wasted anyway! _ ’. 

Bokuto, distracted by the catchy beat of the J-pop song blasting over the speakers, is cajoled by a trio of pretty maids to join them on stage to dance along with them. He pops his hips to the beat of the music, throwing up cheesy hand signals with such gusto that it makes him ( _ yes, present day Keiji _ ) want to smile. 

But his past self evidently hasn’t lightened up yet, because he hears himself say crossly – ‘ _ You do realise this is a waste of time when we could be doing something more useful like homework, especially since Bokuto-san and I already spend most of our time training _ ?’

‘ _ Oh Keiji-kun, life is too short to be spent worrying like that. Because before you know it, you’ll grow into an old man who doesn’t know how to have any fun’. _

_ ‘I have fun’,  _ he says petulantly, a faint sulk in his voice. 

_ ‘Oh really? Then stop worrying and live a little. Maybe you should take a leaf out of your beloved Bokuto-san’s book – look how much fun he’s having! _ ’ 

Bokuto clearly seems to be having the time of his life because now he’s prancing around the stage playing some silly game with the maids. 

_ ‘I told you, I don’t think of him that way.’ _

‘ _ And I’ve told you I’ve borrowed your skin for far too long to know when you’re not telling me the whole truth, Keiji-kun’,  _ she sing-songs. ‘ _ You wished for more time with him, didn’t you, so aren’t I doing a good deed by helping you figure out what Bokuto might like to do with you _ ?’

_ ‘Bokuto-san doesn’t have spare time on these things – and you’re just making an excuse to explore cafes in Tokyo at my expense!’  _

_ ‘Two birds, one stone. Don’t be pedantic, Keiji-kun!’  _

\---------------------------------------------------

The next time he’s back in one of those dreams, he finds his past self dressed in a blue yukata along the Sumida river, tugging Bokuto away from the takoyaki store. He remembers Bokuto dragging him away from the rest of the team on a quest to buy some snacks at the food stalls set up around the park, insisting that his stomach’s growling too loudly to wait until the fireworks display is over ‘ _ come on, even you can hear my stomach at this rate, Akaaashi!!!’ _ – but that’s where the dream starts to diverge. 

‘If you queue for takoyaki, we’re going to miss the fireworks, and you don’t want to miss that, do you Bokuto-san?’ he says, hand firmly on Bokuto’s yukata sleeve. 

‘That’s right! But shouldn’t we join the rest of the team? They’ve got a spot by the river just over there!’ 

‘We won’t get there in time with this crowd – come on! If we hurry, I know the perfect spot to watch the display’, weaving his way through the crowd to shimmy up the trunk of a tree and settle himself comfortably against a large branch. 

‘Woah – Akaashi! I never knew you could climb trees!’ Bokuto calls, sounding impressed.

‘Well, don’t stand there, come join me!’ 

The tree creaks ominously as the larger boy scales its trunk, branches already heavy with red lanterns groaning in protest as he settles himself in the branch opposite Akaashi. And not a moment too soon, because a collective gasp ripples through the crowd along the river as the night sky  _ explodes _ into rainbow hued fiery streaks.

‘It’s amazing, Akaashi!’ Bokuto hollers with his face tilted up to the sky. 

‘You’re amazing, Bokuto-san’, he says fondly, reaching over to bump Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist and the older boy beams at him, the sheer delight in his smile brighter than the fireworks in the sky. There is a sea of stars in his eyes, and Akaashi wants to shrivel in shame at the way his younger self looks like he’s mentally planning to pirate a boat to cross the straits to Bokuto’s heart. 

‘ _ There is no way I’m going to do that’  _ he hears himself say, sounding mildly cross. 

_ ‘Eh – it’s cute. ‘sides, doesn’t he look so happy’ _ he hears her say, sounding overly chipper. 

‘ _ You could spend your time instead learning how to play so Bokuto-san won’t pout when you sit out of practice and you wouldn’t have to pretend you sprain your wrist everytime we swap. _ ’

‘ _ Are you mad? Do you really think they won’t think something’s up when I can’t even do a simple serve?’ _

‘ _ Fine. You have a point _ ’, he answers begrudgingly. 

_ ‘Of course I do. Come on Keiji, live a little. Enjoy your time with the lodestar of your life’ _ .

‘ _ Can you not say things like that?’ _ he says dryly. 

‘ _ It’s your fault for reading so much Shakespeare to me!’ _ she replies with a grin in her voice.

He texts Bokuto the minute he wakes up.  _ ‘ _ Bokuto-san, apologies if this seems weird, but do you remember if we ever climbed a tree when we watched fireworks with our team?’ 

Bokuto takes a while to respond, but that’s to be expected, it’s his mornings are usually filled with practice and conditioning. But when he does respond, his text makes Akaashi’s brow curl. ‘Nope, but sounds fun! What’s up Akaashi!!’ 

Akaashi drops his head in his palms. Good to know he’s not losing his grip on reality at least. 

\---------------------------------------------------

But his sleep for the following weeks continues to be filled with dreams in the same vein. 

He dreams of scenes that have never taken place in real life - him challenging Bokuto-san to ramen eating competition, the older boy winning handily of course, crowing like a child when he slurps the last mouthful of  _ tonkatsu  _ broth - ‘ _ eh Akaashi, eat faster!’ _ , him dragging Bokuto-san to the arcade near school, demolishing middle schoolers in endless games of dance dance revolution ( _ there is no way he is actually able to move like that in real life)  _ and losing far too much money in claw games - ‘ _ Akaashi I really want that toy please -  _ and even he would admit it’s absolutely adorable if not for the fact that he can’t explain  _ why _ these dreams keep invading his head like a wildfire that refuses to die. 

‘ _ I honestly don’t understand you’,  _ she says and again, why on earth is  _ she  _ in this set of dreams -  _ she  _ doesn’t belong in them.

‘ _ What exactly do you not understand? _ ’

‘ _ If you like him that much, why aren’t you jumping at the chance to hang out with him? All you do is nag me about how I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting your time, but I don’t understand - isn’t time meant to be spent on the people you love? Unless you’re confusing love with admiration, because yes, I get that you admire his talent, but you don’t seem to have all that much patience for spending time with him outside of school.’  _

_ ‘I suppose I do like him, but…’ _

_ ‘Finally you admit it, but I don’t like the sound of that word.’ _

_ ‘It’s nothing’,  _ he finally says, and she huffs in annoyance, clearly wanting him to explain but he stubbornly refuses to say another word. 

\---------------------------------------------------

His past self is skidding down the hallway with Bokuto hot on his heels yelling ‘ _ Akaaashiii you owe me a Yakisoba bunnnnn _ ’ when he hears an almighty  _ crash _ behind him. As he spins around, Bokuto’s sprawled on the floor, papers and books scattered around him. The older boy grimaces as he sits up, grabbing at his ankle in pain. 

‘Bokuto-san, are you ok?’ he cries, running back towards the older boy. 

‘I might have twisted my ankle. Argh this is bad - prelims are just next week!’ Bokuto groans, clutching at his ankle desperately. 

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine tomorrow, trust me’, his past self says with complete certainty, and flags down a passing student to call for a teacher. 

‘ _ Look what you’ve done now. Are you happy with yourself?’  _ he hears himself say accusingly. ‘ _ Everything might reset tomorrow, but look - he’s hurt himself today. Is this what you’ve been trying to prove to me? _ ’ 

_ ‘I’m sorry, Keiji’ _ he hears her say, her voice watery. ‘ _ I didn’t mean to  _ - _ ’  _

_ ‘Of course you didn’t, you never think about the consequences of your actions, do you? _ ’ he says, glass shards in his words. 

His dream fades to black. He never hears her answer. 

\---------------------------------------------------

His sleep remains relatively undisturbed for the next fortnight, just in time for his mid-term exams which he aces, even his course on classical Japanese literature. He’s relieved of course, because his final year grades matter most when it comes to recruitment, yet there’s a part of him that’s buried deep between ventricles and pumping flesh that childishly wonders what his dreams are going to show him next.

His wish is answered when he opens his eyes to an ocean of stars, white pinpricks of light against the vast tapestry of the purple night sky. His head is pillowed on tufts of grass and the wind whispers against his feet.

The sight takes his breath away. He’s a born and bred city boy, and he knows from experience it’s near impossible to see stars in the city sky amidst light pollution and masquerading satellites. 

_ ‘Is this your way of apologising?’  _ he asks, his voice wry. 

‘ _ Is it working yet?’ _ he hears her ask, an uncharacteristically timid note in her voice. 

He laughs, a fond sound, and he can hear her huff a breath through her mouth.  _ ‘I am sorry though, Keiji. I never meant to hurt him _ ’. 

_ ‘It’s fine, no damage done. Besides, I was thinking about what you said.’ _

_ ‘Me? About what? I know I’ve said plenty to you so far’,  _ she says curiously. 

_ ‘About Bokuto-san’,  _ he supplies, and she stays silent, waiting for him to go on. The stars twinkle down at him, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the galaxy reaching down to lend him its infinite strength.  _ ‘You were right about how…I felt about Bokuto-san. I thought what I felt for him was something more than it really was - now I’m starting to realise I just admire his strength, and I don’t see our paths ever converging, especially if he’s going to chase his dreams of going pro all the way’ _ . 

_ ‘You don’t have to chase someone else’s light when you’re brilliant in your own right _ ’, she says gently. 

_ ‘Thanks’,  _ he answers thickly, as if the word feels a little awkward in his mouth. 

‘ _ So -’  _ she pipes up, and he can tell she’s trying her best to paper over the sudden lapse of silence. ‘ _ Will you tell me stories about the stars, Keiji? _ ’

He laughs fondly, raising a hand to catch the stardust from the sparkling constellations overhead. ‘ _ I could tell you the story of Andromeda, chained to rocks as a sacrifice to satisfy the cruel demands of the sea monster? _ ’ 

‘ _ Ugh no gory stories, I want a happy ending!’ _

‘ _ It has a happy ending, I promise. Just be patient and listen, okay? _ ’ 

__ \---------------------------------------------------

Akaashi wakes up before his past self can finish telling the tale of Persues’ rescue of Andromeda from the jaws of defeat. It’s barely three in the morning, but he knows it’s futile to try to go back to sleep. He wanders to the window, and wonders whether the lone star hanging in the cloudy sky is merely a satellite in disguise. 

Against his better judgment, he dials Bokuto’s number. 

‘What’s up, Akaashi!’ he hears the older man mumble sleepily, sheets rustling. 

‘Was it obvious I had a crush on you in high school?’ he asks plainly. If seeking closure is what he needs to end this slew of dreams, then he’s going to do it, never mind the embarrassment thick in the blood in his veins.

‘Huh?’ 

Akaashi’s pretty sure he can hear Bokuto blink rapidly. ‘A crush on you’, he repeats, and for good measure he adds - ‘sometime in your third year of high school’. 

‘Ehhhh…’ Bokuto’s voice trails off over the phone. ‘You did?’ 

The sigh that trips out of Akaashi’s mouth is worn, weary. ‘I did’, he confirms, embarrassment writhing in his belly. 

‘But you stopped right? Just before I graduated? You started becoming distracted after Spring High and I thought you were just worrying about university entrance exams.’

‘I suppose.’ And Akaashi should really get a grip on himself but his dreams have been doing a number on him so to his horror, he starts to ramble. ’ It’s probably the lack of sleep, but look - this sounds really stupid but I was having a lot of really weird dreams and I don’t understand what’s happening but I’m hoping getting this off my chest helps me get some more sleep and I hope you don’t think I’m completely weird and don’t mind still being my friend -’

‘Woah, ‘kaashi, slow down! You’re overthinking again - what, you think I’m not going to be your friend anymore?’ Bokuto booms, laughing widely. 

‘Uh. I don’t know?’ 

‘Relax! I’m flattered, but I think it’s a good thing we never went out! You were already so stressed dealing with me in high school Washio used to joke about your hair falling out, but I’ve changed! Now I’m just an ordinary ace!’ 

‘Bokuto-san, I don’t think anyone would call you  _ ordinary _ ’, Akaashi interjects, rubbing circles against his temple. 

‘You know what I mean!’ Bokuto laughs, the sound so round and boisterous that it makes Akaashi quirk his lips up in affection. 

‘Yes, Bokuto-san. Anyway, sorry for disturbing your sleep.’ 

‘Anytime, Akaashi!’ They bid each other goodnight, and the relief he feels after the call settles on his chest like a blanket, and he falls back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very, very much appreciated. This is quite different from my usual work, so I'm a little nervous about it, but I hope you like it.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at amjustagirl !
> 
> Much love <3


	3. Forest Nymph

‘It’s for my mother’s birthday’, Akaashi says, and the florist tilts her head in thought, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. 

‘What about pink carnations? They’re pretty and well within your budget’.

‘Good choice – plus it means that I’ll never forget her’ he says, nodding in approval and she bustles around to gather her materials, fingers nimbly twining tissue and ribbons around the blooms. 

_‘_ Oh - ’, he begins to say in surprise when he notices she’s included a bunch of baby’s breath in the little bouquet, because a university student’s budget only stretches _that_ much. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s on the house’, she hastily reassures him, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. ‘I just thought it’s sweet you’re buying flowers for your mother.

‘Thanks.’ He smiles at her. She grins back and seems to trip over her own feet, as she hands the bouquet over to him. ‘Watch out’, he calls, reaching over the counter to grab her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

‘Sorry! That’s so clumsy of me. Um – I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but would you like to grab coffee with me someday?’ she asks, cheeks flushing as pink as the flowers in his arms. 

‘Oh’, he says, dumbstruck. ‘I – uh’ 

She must read the hesitation in his face because she shakes her head self-deprecatingly, saving him from floundering awkwardly. ‘Sorry! I don’t know what came over me – please forget I ever said that!’ Then she bows and ushers him out of the store, waves away his apologies with a laugh and calls after him to ‘please come again!’ 

His mother fusses over him when he presents his bouquet of carnations to her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘Why does it look like university is treating you so badly?

‘I’m fine, mum’, he tries to distract her with a hug, but she’s having none of that. 

‘Are you really, Keiji?’, his mother asks, lips pursed. ‘I know my son well enough to know he’s not sleeping well’. 

‘I try, mum’, he offers, but he knows his excuse falls flat when she sniffs. He’s so irredeemably busy with school work and internship that sleep is practically the last item on his list of priorities and things to do and tasks at hand, but he knows if he breathes a word about the amount of work on his plate, his mother would nag him relentlessly until she’s convinced he’s taking care of himself again

So honed by years of dealing with Bokuto-san, he switches tactics to diversion. ‘So mum, tell me how auntie managed to talk Yuji-kun into going on blind dates?’ His mum brightens and immediately turns her mind to her favourite nephew’s dismal love life. 

But his mother insists on him staying over that night, so he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom, in a bed that suddenly feels too small for the worries that adulthood is cramming into his head. He’s patient, counting the spaces between his breaths but sleep eludes him and he sits up, determined to sneak in more work at the very least. 

He tucks a pencil behind his ear, ready to get cracking on his thesis when he tilts his seat too far on the back two legs of his chair and loses his balance, falling onto the floor with a _thump_ . ‘Damnit’, he curses quietly, hoping the noise doesn’t startle his mother awake, but from his vantage point on the floor, he can see the _omamori_ he inexplicably refused to throw away on New Year’s Day hanging on the bars of his windowsill. 

‘What are you doing here’, he mutters, untying the charm and running his thumb along its fraying seams. The charm obviously does not respond - it’s an inanimate object after all, but for some reason, he slips it in his pocket when he returns to the dorm when morning comes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

The frequency of his dreams starts to increase. 

He’s back in her body, curled up under a pine tree on a cool autumn day. 

‘ _I can’t believe you convinced me to spend an afternoon running around like a forest nymph when we could be studying to ace your exams’._ There is a tinge of disdain in his words because he _knows_ her grades are better than decent, though they’d be better if only she’d spend more time on her books instead of flower fields. 

‘ _Aww, a nymph? Someone’s feeling extra poetic_ today’, she teases lightly. 

_‘Don’t try distracting me from the fact that you really should be studying_ ’, he insists, displeased. 

_‘I do study’_ she protests, but he hums disbelievingly, the spectre of Waseda’s devilishly difficult entrance exam looming in his mind. 

_‘Not enough to get into a decent university at this rate.’_

_‘I don’t want to go to university, Keiji, I’ve tried telling you this before_ ’, she sighs. 

‘ _You don’t?’_

 _‘Nope’_ she responds, popping the word in her mouth. ‘ _I just want to sell flowers to people someday, is that so bad? It’s simple - they make people happy, and that makes me happy in turn. If we only have a lifetime to spend on this earth, shouldn’t we pursue what truly brings us joy instead of dreams others impose on us?’_

‘ _I suppose that makes sense_ ’, he says, sounding vaguely convinced.

‘ _Course it does’_ , she responds easily, a smile flickering in her voice. ‘ _I always make sense. Now. Let’s not squabble, it’s my turn to tell you a story today_ ’. 

So he listens, enthralled despite himself, as she spins tales of the _Kodama_ , tree spirits dwelling in the ancient forest, how her mother taught her to always offer a prayer to the gods before chopping down a tree - and if the tree bleeds, to back away because it means it has a _Kodama_ living, breathing within it. 

_‘Are they real?’_ he asks her, when she finishes a tale of a _Kodama_ who assumed human form after falling in love with a maiden blessed with cherry blossoms in her cheeks.

 _‘Of course they are’_ she laughs. ‘ _If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear them sing._ ’

The forest remains eerily still. ‘ _I don’t hear anything,_ ’ he says, disbelief colouring his tone. 

‘ _Maybe it’s because they know you don’t really believe in them yet.’_

He wakes up with the scent of pine in his nose, the lingering touch of grass against the soles of his feet. 

\---------------------------------------------------

‘ _Electricity is a fickle beast in this household, so the first thing you need to do when you come home is to light the fire in the irori. Even Toya-chan knows how to do that, and he’s eight!’_

He stares balefully at the sunken hearth lined with stone and filled with ash, situated right in the center of the old house. _‘This is a fire hazard_ ’, he tells her stubbornly. 

_‘Fire is life, you spoilt city boy! It only becomes dangerous if you don’t respect it. Now come on, or you’ll end up freezing to death and I won’t be able to save you. I always keep a lighter in my pocket and in the store room there’s coal and if really necessary, some petrol I flinched from the petrol station – ‘_

_‘You better make sure the teachers don’t find your lighter and think you’ve been smoking – ‘_ he interjects and she continues as if she doesn’t hear him. 

_‘So you light the fire and hang the kettle from the iron hook, and voila! You can cook porridge or soup if electricity runs out and you can’t rely on the rice cooker or stove. And when the night is too cold to sleep in your room, you can drag your futon out here for warmth. It’s kinda nice, almost like camping. Now, let’s see you try lighting a fire yourself!_ ’ 

Her fingers are thin and nimble, but they’re unfamiliar implements to him, so he fumbles with arranging the coal and scrap paper around damp wood. He has to resort to using a drip of petrol to coax the damp wood to ignite in flames but he counts it as a triumph anyway as fire dances in the sunken hearth. 

He can hear her cheer – ‘ _Congrats city boy!’_ Ignoring the implied insult in her words, he smiles. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He’s back in her skin again when her voice echoes in his mind. 

‘ _Y’know you’re not gonna be able to learn how to put on a bra if you don’t open your eyes when doing it right?’_ she says, amusement ripe in her voice. _‘Every girl has tits, Keiji_ . _If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen your dick_ ’. 

_‘What?’_ he yelps, eyes still stubbornly closed. 

_‘How else was I supposed to use the urinals? Goodness, being a guy is so convenient when it comes to peeing, you just point and shoot -_ ’

 _‘Right, that’s too much information, thanks_ ’, he huffs. 

_‘Well, you’re gonna make me late for school if you don’t open your eyes_ ’, she sing songs, and he knows she’s banking on his reverence for punctuality and perfect attendance records to get him to look in the mirror, but he’s not sure it outweighs his mother’s lessons of being a gentleman. _‘Keiji-kun_ ’, she says again, amused. ‘ _I do appreciate that you’re trying to protect my modesty, but those rules don’t really apply when we’re in a situation like this, you know? If it makes you feel better, I give you explicit permission to look at my breasts when strictly necessary.’_

 _‘Can you not say it like that_ ’, he grouses before cracking an eye open, somewhat persuaded, and somehow manages to snap the tiny hooks in place. ‘ _Bras are like torture devices_ ’. 

_‘Don’t I know it_ ’, she chuckles. _‘Be glad you only have to put up with it every once in a while_ ’. 

He snorts, more comfortable once some semblance of her modesty is secured. ‘ _I’ll count my blessings then_ ’. Twisting at the waist to zip up her skirt, his breath catches at a glimpse of freckles on her back in the mirror. He forgets he’s still standing in front of the mirror as his fingers idly trace the constellation, a spray of stardust on bare skin. 

_‘Keiji_?’ she asks, confused. 

_‘Sorry!_ ’, he startles. ‘ _It’s just I never noticed you had freckles’_

 _‘Yes - I’m aware I have them, and_?’, she replies archly, and the irony that she’s completely fine with him staring at her breasts but not her back does not elude him, but he holds his tongue. 

_‘They’re arranged in my favourite constellation_ ’, he tells her honestly and he hears her chuckle again. 

_‘I’ll show you the real thing next time_ ’, she promises, before switching seamlessly to berate him - _‘And you can stop staring at my back now, we’re gonna be late for school!_ ’

The next day is spent wondering if he’s a creep for dreaming about half naked sixteen year old girls – even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about his dream. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He sees _her_ run through the woods like a fawn discovering spring for the first time, watches her come to a stop at an open clearing framed by trees. There is a shrine in the center of the clearing, cracked and covered in moss, but she approaches it reverently, dropping to her knees. 

‘ _There is old magic in this shrine’_ , she whispers, brushing leaves and branches away before laying her _omamori_ down at the altar. ‘ _Do you remember the wish you made?_ ’ 

‘ _I wished for more time - I got greedy and asked for yesterday to come again_ ’, he answers, voice hushed. 

_‘And I wished for the exact opposite. I got impatient and asked tomorrow to arrive, as fast as it can_ ’, she replies, tilting her face up to the sun. 

‘ _I suppose that’s what happened_ ’, he says. ‘ _Our wishes got tangled up, and our bodies and souls got thrown through time and space_ ’. 

‘ _Hm. Do you think we have souls, Keiji?_ ’ she asks him.

‘ _Yes_ ’, he says, sounding perplexed. ‘ _What else would we be swapping?_

‘ _What colour d’you think your soul is?_ ’ It’s a strange question, but he’s used to anticipating the unexpected from her. 

_‘Blue. It reminds me of the summer sky_ ’, he replies.

 **_‘_ ** _Fitting_ ’, she laughs with a cheeky grin on her face. ‘ _Since the sky is a star’s domain_ ’. 

_‘What about you_ ’, he asks, so accustomed to ignoring her teasing about Bokuto-san. ‘ _What colour do you think your soul is?’_

 _‘Yellow, I hope_ ’, she says dreamily. ‘ _It’s warmth and life - like flames lighting up wintry nights, or daffodils on the first day of spring’_.

He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the strange dreams hit him in full force after he brings back the _omamori_. But Kenma’s right, he’s become strangely addicted to the narrative his dreams are showing him. It’s like the books he snuck under the covers at night, emerging bleary eyed in the morning because he was intent on seeing the story end. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, it makes him feel like that he - quiet, bookish Akaashi Keiji is the protagonist in the Ghibli movies that Bokuto-san makes him watch, so he doesn’t put up a fight against the dreams that re-invade his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very, very much appreciated (even if it's to tell me you like how the story's going so far - or anything, really!)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at amjustagirl !
> 
> Much love <3


	4. Rosemary

But then his dreams start to take a dark turn, though he doesn’t notice it at the start. 

There is light dancing on the edge of his eyelids, and when he blinks he finds himself in a field of neverending gold. _‘You’re obsessed with flowers_ ’ he teases her, leaning on his hands to allow the breeze to ruffle his hair and whisper long lost secrets in his ear. 

‘ _But they’re so pretty. It’s like they were put on this earth by the gods to remind us that life can be beautiful, after all.’_

_‘Now who’s being poetic, hm?’_

_‘Don’t tease! I’ll give you a more prosaic reason then. I’ve loved flowers ever since I worked for a florist after mum died to earn a little money on the side and ended up falling in love with the look on people’s faces when they buy flowers for themselves and the people they love._ ’

 _‘Why don’t I see you work at the florist shop then?_ ’ He frowns, thinking of the bustling, cosy little shop in the town square owned by Hana-chan’s mom. 

_‘It didn’t work out_ ’, she says simply. _‘Well, never mind that. Just shush and bask in the sun, let the sky gods weave rainbows into your dreams_ ’. 

Her words linger in his mind, and he foolishly finds himself searching for rainbows in the sky the next day.

\----------------------------------------

 _‘Listen to the sky, Keiji_ ’, she calls, her laughter like birdsong. ‘ _Do you think the wind will answer our prayers today?_ ’ 

‘ _You answer my question first_ ’, he grumbles. ‘ _Hana-chan cornered me at school to scream at me to mind my own business again. Does that have anything to do with the bruises I saw on your arm last week? What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into when I’m not around?_ ’ 

‘ _Nosy, nosy Keiji_ ’, she teases, and he knows she’s just deflecting his concerns again. ‘ _You’re just overthinking things again_ ’. 

_‘Promise me you’ll be careful_ ’, he pleads. _‘Promise me you’re not doing anything stupid_ ’. 

_‘Stop worrying, silly boy, I promise I’ll be fine_ ’, she murmurs, her voice lost in the wind. 

\---------------------------------------------------

‘ _You need to tell me what’s going on, you can’t go on like this at this rate’_ , he hears himself say, desperation laced in his words. 

He looks down. There is a tapestry of mottled bruises and angry welts on her arms, paint strokes of yellow and blue and purple and red that is gut-wrenching in the violence it implies.

‘ _It’s not my secret to tell, Keiji’_ , she says, unwavering. 

He wakes up, the pit in his stomach slowly filling up with dread. His dreams are turning out to be less like a shojo manga, more like a thriller that he suspects will give its protagonist a terrible end. 

\---------------------------------------------------

 _'Have you been a good friend to Hana-chan these days?_ ’ the man asks, an unfriendly smile playing on his lips. 

Akaashi (or rather, _him in her – though she’s in here somewhere too so it’s a little confusing_ ) frowns, but accepts the box of vegetables and eggs held out to him anyway. _‘I suppose_ ’, he answers, the load heavy in his arms, and the man seems to accept his response, humming an offbeat tune. 

‘ _Well, I hope you can keep a secret, sweet girl’_ the man laughs, tossing his cigarette butt on the grass before walking away. Sparks smoulder in the dry grass, and Akaashi has to balance the box on his hip to stamp them out. 

‘ _That’s Hana-chan’s father, Nakamura-san_ ’, she tells him, voice strained. ‘ _I need you to act normal around him, got that_?’ 

_‘Might need you to find me the definition for your normal’_ he says drily. _‘That word’s lost its meaning to me these days_ ’. 

He hears her chuckle, but she doesn’t sound amused. 

\----------------------------------------

Hana-chan corners him when he’s in her body and he’s stupid enough not to notice the fist that swings his way. 

‘ _I told you, you little creep_ ’, she snarls, her nails digging into his arms. _‘I told you to stay the fuck away from me, but did you listen? No! I saw you last night, creeping around my family’s house with that stupid phone of yours – did you really think I wouldn’t notice you? I’m warning you to stay away or I will fucking end you, got that?_ ’ 

And she spits in his face, and he’s still left trying to make sense of the sting of cold liquid on his cheek when burning hands shove down the stairs. Concrete and human flesh clashes, the victor already predetermined, his body wracked with pain as he lands heavily, face down on the floor. 

‘ _Last warning to stay away, you creep_ ’, she shrieks before turning on her heel. There are no other students in the deserted hallway – not that anyone would come to help, not from his experience. 

_‘Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to piece your secrets together myself?_ ’ he demands, when he scrapes himself off the floor, body aching from bruises in full bloom. 

He can hear her breathe a sigh. _‘It’s a long story’_ , she finally says. 

_‘Right now, all I have is time_ ’ he answers drily. ‘ _Try me_ ’. 

So she tells him about taking a part time job with Hana’s mom, the town’s florist for some extra cash. She tells him about the noises she hears whenever Hana’s mom steps out of the store, faint echoes of whimpers and sobs and broken cries for help, and how she puts two and two together when she sees the bruises on her classmate’s arms and legs. Her voice shakes when she tells him what she saw when she stole upstairs towards Hana’s bedroom one cloudy afternoon, how Hana’s dad gets off on hurting his teenage daughter, how she tried to report what she saw - _but who’d believe the words of a teenage girl over the town mayor_.

‘ _And now he’s taking it out on Hana-chan, which is why she hates me but I’m not going to let him stop me_ ’, she tells him stubbornly and he can hear his past self gulp.

‘ _Are you insane? You shouldn’t get yourself involved. Tell someone, anyone. If you continue like this, you’re going to get yourself killed at this rate_ ’. 

_‘Stop being a worrywart, Keiji!_ ’ she laughs, but the sound is hollow. ‘ _I’ll be fine, I promise_ ’. 

\----------------------------------------

She’s back at the forest shrine, holding her hands together in prayer. The mangled remains of dandelions lie beside her knees, decapitated flower maidens sacrificed for wishes that they both know won’t ever come true. 

_‘I told you no one will listen to me, Keiji_ ’, she cries, her face buried in her hands. ‘ _They all think I’m a little child who’s making up stories for attention_ ’. 

‘ _There’s nothing you can do unless you have a record of it. Just keep your head down, or he’ll come after you next. How many times have I told you not to set yourself on fire to keep others warm?_ ’ 

Her head shoots up, and a feral grin ignites like wildfire on her face. ‘ _That’s brilliant, Keiji!_ ’ 

‘ _Wait no - that wasn’t meant to encourage you – that was meant to be metaphorical!’_

‘ _If it all works out, it’s because of you!_ ’ she runs off, throwing her head back as she laughs, challenging the wind to catch her if it dares, before disappearing into the woods. 

\---------------------------------------

 _‘You have got to be kidding me_ ’ he groans, kicking off the blankets to stare at his or well, _her_ legs in horror. Dried blood is still caked into the deepest scrapes on her legs, and he can feel the ache from the bruises deep in his bones. _‘What on earth did you do?’_

_‘I may or may not have slipped when I was scaling Hana’s drainpipe’_. 

He can feel the vein in his temple start to throb. _‘You what?’_ he bites out. 

_‘They didn’t see me, I swear!’_

He groans in despair this time, dropping his head in his hands. What is he supposed to do with someone so ridiculously obstinate?

‘ _If anything happens – ‘_ she begins to say but he cuts her off before she can complete her sentence. 

‘ _You promised me you wouldn’t do anything remotely risky and I refuse to let you put yourself in danger again._ ’

She sighs, and worry flickers like a flame in his heart. 

_‘Fine – just. If anything happens – ‘_

_‘Which it won’t, not on my watch’_ , he tells her firmly. 

\----------------------------------------

The smell of smouldering ash hits his nostrils. 

His eyes fly awake. He’s back in the old wooden house again, but he chases his curiosity to the front yard, where he finds the letterbox razed to the ground. 

_‘A warning to stay out of his business_ ’, he hears her say, her voice determined. _‘But I’m not going to be spooked just by that._ ’

 _‘You promised to be careful’_ he shouts, properly angry. ‘ _Look at what you’ve done!_ ’. 

_‘I refuse to be a bystander to his madness_ ’, she screams back. _‘I'd be tarred by his sins if I choose to do nothing about them._ ’

\----------------------------------------

His shirt is soaked in cold sweat when he stumbles out of bed, slapping his palms against his face to reassure himself that he’s not back in the dreamscape. 

_‘_ It’s not real. It can’t be real’, he tells his reflection firmly, but his mirror self only stares back at him. 

In the morning, he skips class to make a trip back home, intent on leaving the _omamori_ where it belongs, back in his childhood bedroom, so he can look forward to adulthood without these _ridiculous_ dreams clouding his way. He stops by the florist on the way, as is his usual practice these days. 

‘Flowers for your mother?’ the florist asks, when she opens the shutters to greet him, her first customer of the day. 

‘Yes’, he answers shortly, and on an impulse he adds (because he needs something to fill the newly empty space on his desk) - ‘and maybe a houseplant. Something that’s relatively easy to take care of would do the trick.’

She hums in thought, fingers busy tying ribbons in the bunch of yellow roses for his mother. He doesn’t need to ask to know that the baby’s breath she includes is on the house. 

‘What about rosemary?’ she suggests. 

‘For remembrance?’ he asks, wrinkling his nose at the reference to Hamlet. The sudden thought of poor, mad Ophelia, floating dead in a stream, water lilies in her hair hits a chord that’s a little too jarring. ‘Um. Maybe a cactus might be better instead.’

He wonders if he’s imagining things, but he catches a flash of disappointment on her face before she replies easily - ‘sure!’, bending down to pull out a grumpy looking bulb full of thorns. Then she waves him off, his purchases packed in a neat brown bag. ‘Please come again!’ 

The cactus replaces the _omamori_ , sitting neatly on his desk. It refuses to die even when he forgets to water it for weeks at a time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very, very much appreciated. We're more than halfway through, and I'm excited to hear what you think about it thus far.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at amjustagirl !
> 
> Much love <3


	5. Wisteria

Time passes. 

Akaashi graduates from university with top honours and gets recruited immediately by a publishing company. He’s mildly disappointed when he’s dispatched to the manga department instead of the literature department as he originally hoped, but it’s not all that bad, he gets to work with Udai-sensei on his new volleyball manga. 

He’s content, all things considered. 

His mother is constantly on his case to __find a girlfriend_ -_ because she insists _I'm growing old and I want grandchildren soon._ To placate her, he goes on arranged dates with daughters of his father’s business associates, with nieces of his mother’s friends. While they’re pleasant enough, they all seem to come from the same mould - well bred middle class university graduates more interested in complaining about their bosses and talking about the branded bags they’re going to get next. Once he tried asking one of them about the type of flowers she likes best. His date blinked in confusion at first, but immediately brightened up and she said ‘ _roses, I guess? They look so good on instagram!’_

He did not ask for a second date. 

Honestly, he’s not exactly looking to date anyone at the moment. He’s young, barely twenty three. Work is time consuming enough, with his days filled with constantly looming deadlines and chasing temperamental mangakas like Udai-sensei. His mother will just have to accept that grandchildren are very much not in the near future. But he does feel somewhat guilty -  _ ‘even Yuji-kun is seeing this lovely girl, auntie tells me,’  _ his mother nagged last Sunday, so he picks up a habit of buying flowers to soothe her every time he heads to his parent’s home for a meal. 

‘Pink carnations for your mother again?’ the florist asks brightly. 

Akaashi nods, insisting on paying for the baby’s breath she adds to the bouquet. The florist lets him when he assures her he’s no longer a starving university student, and pulls her gloves off to rifle in her drawer for change. 

‘Here you go!’, she chirps, holding out a tray with his change. His gaze is drawn to the pink burn scars streaked across her hands, and flushes when she meets his curious eyes with a knowing look. 

‘Sorry, I - uh didn’t mean to stare’, he begins to splutter, but she waves it off. 

‘It’s fine. I got them a long time ago’, she replies, a wistful smile twisting her lips, tugging her sleeves down to her wrist. 

He bows and takes his leave. He doesn’t spare a second thought on the encounter when he reaches his parent’s house, his mother exclaiming over the little bouquet.

\----------------------------------------

The table shakes when his colleague slumps into his seat, sighing deeply. 

‘Did your boss get on your case for typos again?’ Akaashi asks, his spoon pausing on the way to his mouth. 

‘Worse’, his colleague groans. ‘He’s sending me to Hokkaido for next month’s feature on crimes that shocked the nation, and I have to travel all the way up the mountains to some dinky little town without a train station.

‘Hm’. Akaashi raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. ‘What’s the feature about?’ 

‘See for yourself’. His colleague dramatically slides his folder of articles across the table, bumping it into Akaashi’s plate. 

He thumbs through the folder. Nakamura Yakeru, the mayor of a small mountain town in Hokkaido, found guilty on a multitude of charges - breaking and entering, causing arson by fire, assault and attempted murder of a schoolgirl, her identity redacted. It’s shocking in and of itself - but there’s something awfully familiar about the man’s face. 

He smooths out the creases in the paper, bringing the newspaper clipping closer to his face, and  _ oh -  _

_ He knows that face _ . 

His mind echoes with the memories of flinching at the sight of Nakamura’s teeth, yellowed from nicotine and bared in a smirk, the acrid stench of cigarettes lingering on his shirt, cursing whenever that inconsiderate bastard left sparks smouldering in dry grass. But it doesn’t make sense - there’s no reason for him to have ever met the man. He’s never been farther north than Sapporo, a born and bred Tokyo city boy after all. And he doesn’t recall seeing the man’s face on the news either when the crime was committed. 

_ So why would his dreams feature this man - a criminal in real life?  _

‘Akaashi?’ he hears his colleague call his name, but his voice can barely be heard over the pounding of his heart in his ears. ‘You’ve gone really white, is everything ok?’ 

‘I’m fine’, he replies, hastily shoving the article back in the folder. ‘Everything’s fine.’ 

His colleague doesn’t look like he believes him. Frankly, Akaashi doesn’t believe himself either. 

\----------------------------------------

Try as he might, he can’t get the eerie coincidence out of his mind. And after a few restless nights, he finds himself back in his childhood bedroom, holding the old  _ omamori  _ in his hands. It’s just an inanimate scrap of cotton fabric, but he’s tempted to borrow his mother’s sewing kit to pick its stitches apart, to discover the secrets woven into its threads. 

It feels silly being so superstitious, but he can’t help feeling that he’s on the verge of discovering what his strange dreams have been trying to show him - so he tucks the  _ omamori  _ under his pillow, his thumbnail catching on a stray thread, before he surrenders himself to his dreams. 

‘ _ Akaashi Keiji _ ’, a cool voice pronounces his name with faint amusement.  _ ‘Back to change the terms of our bargain? _ ’

His eyes fly open. 

This time he’s on familiar ground, kneeling on the twenty sixth step of the shrine he visits with his parents for  _ Hatsumode _ , the other twenty five steps below him shrouded in mist. But the woman standing before him is not familiar to him - in fact, she’s clearly not even  _ human _ , not with her red eyes and pale lips, not with the wisteria trailing from her hair and disappearing into her skin. That should scare him, but it doesn’t because he can’t discern any malice in her eyes, and the scent of the wisteria is soothingly sweet. 

So his curiosity wins out over his sense of caution, and he asks blankly - ‘ _ I’m sorry, who are you exactly? And, um. What bargain are you referring to? _ ’

Her eyes gleam. ‘ _ I’m offended. Don’t you recognise the guardian of the shrine you’ve been praying at your whole life? And as for the bargain you’ve made with me - I thought you already figured it all out by yourself, little boy. _ ’ Laughing airily, she crouches over him, a wooden plaque dangling from her finger. ‘ _ Remember this?’ _

He reads the words etched on the plaque.  _ ‘I wish I could have more time. I wish for yesterday to come again. _ ’ Then he glances up at the shrine deity sharply. ‘ _ I remember that from my dreams. Does this mean they’re real?’ _

_ ‘What do you think? _ ’ Her lips stretch into a grin. 

_ ‘Logic would suggest that they aren’t. It shouldn’t be possible to swap bodies, let alone with someone I’ve never met in my life. And yet…’  _

_ ‘And yet?’  _ she prompts, tilting his head towards her with the nail of her finger.

‘ _ It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore the fact that I know Nakamura Yakeru from my dreams, so that suggests at least some semblance of it is real. _ ’ He looks at her pleadingly. ‘ _ Are you here to help me?’  _

She laughs again, the sound ethereal like the flutter of butterfly wings. The sleeves of her purple kimono slide down her wrists, the scent of wisteria enveloping him growing sickly sweet. ‘ _ Since you asked so nicely, little boy, I guess there’s no harm telling you your dreams are real. I granted your wish on a whim, and look how amusing you’ve been!’ _

_ Oh gods his dreams are real. They’re real. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, they’re real.  _

Then Akaashi feels his stomach churn. He inhales a shaky breath. 

_ That means she’s real, doesn't it.  _

He thinks about the salaciously titled newspaper articles, the violence implied in its words. He thinks about the innocence in her impulses, the whimsicalness of her thoughts. He feels ill at the thought of someone deliberately trying to extinguish  _ her _ . 

_ ‘What happens in the end _ ?’ he asks, blood rushing to his head, slamming his palms flat on the ground for support. ‘ _ What happens to her _ ?’

Sunlight pierces through the fog, and the wisteria spirit starts to fade before his very eyes. 

_ ‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’ _ her voice a mere echo.  _ ‘You’ll find all the answers you’re looking for at the shrine in the forest. You know the way there - you’ve been there a thousand times, both in real life and in your dreams.’ _

He gasps as he jolts awake, hands clenching his sheets. 

He’s in his bed in his apartment. Everything is exactly as it was before he went to sleep. 

Well - everything except the scent of wisteria lingering in the air.

\----------------------------------------

Udai-sensei’s eyes bug out from its sockets when Akaashi tells him he’s off to Hokkaido for an impromptu holiday. 

‘You aren’t burnt out, are you? Is it me? Is it the deadlines? Don’t quit on me - there’s no way another editor can provide the same input on my new volleyball manga like you!’ he begs, sounding dangerously close to tears. 

Akaashi sighs, muttering under his breath about ‘ _ highly strung mangakas’  _ but manages to reassure Udai that  _ no, he’s not quitting, _ he’s just taking a four day break. He thought it’d be nice to visit the flower fields during summer in Hokkaido, and he has an old friend in those parts he might pay a visit to. 

So he puts himself on a short flight to Sapporo, and a painfully long bus ride further north into the mountains, arriving at the rural village he’s traversed countless times in his dreams. He drags his luggage past the high school, the  _ crunch _ of wheels on gravel slowly knocking loose memories of bones aching, flesh bruising, from tumbles down the stairs, from falls off drain pipes, from predestined losses against cement floors. 

He exhales through his nose when he walks past the florist’s shop. It’s a hollow shell of bare concrete and cardboard shutters, a gap where the signboard should be on the shopfront, a stark contrast to the bustling bakery and  _ combini  _ it’s sandwiched between.  _ Thank god _ , he mutters, the blaze of hurt and desperation in Hana-chan’s eyes haunting his mind. 

The only inn in the town is serviceable enough, though he’s looked at in askance by the innkeeper when he admits he’s an editor. ‘Another gossip hound _ ’,  _ the old lady mutters resentfully, and Akaashi has to do damage control lest she assign him the dampest room in the establishment and assure her that he’s no journalist, just a flower enthusiast interested in the lavender blooming in the fields. He charms her enough with his politeness that by the time he checks into his room, she offers him free use of a bicycle to explore the town, and he takes her up on her offer once he drops off his bags in his room. 

The summer sun is starting its descent from the sky as he cycles past familiar dirt paths lined with trees, the anticipation in his blood thrumming as he passes sprawling farms he’s sure he’s eaten stolen eggs from, passes the gas station  _ she _ bragged about stealing petrol from. The rush of blood to his head hits a roaring crescendo when he reaches the edge of the woods. 

Leaning the bicycle against a fallen tree, he sets off to the very heart of the forest, his feet seeming to recognise a path his eyes cannot see. The deeper into the forest he ventures into, the thicker the branches overhead seem to grow, leaves interwoven into a net that blocks the sun. 

The wind ripples over his skin. The trees seem to whisper out to him. 

_ Okaeri,  _ he hears.  _ Welcome home _ , the  _ Kodama _ spirits murmur over the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Sunlight from the setting sun spills into a clearing just ahead, and though he’s almost blinded by the sudden flash of light, he can make out the outline of a shrine, situated dead center of the clearing and breaks into a run.  _ There it is _ , he thinks, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as he brushes fallen branches and leaves off the shrine, deaf to the growing whispers from the trees surrounding him. 

‘Please grant me your secrets’, he breathes, eyes closed in prayer. 

He can feel a pulse in the ground, a sudden shift in the air. Wisteria blooms from the soft earth in his heart. 

_ Oh.  _

_ Oh gods.  _

_ He remembers.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very, very much appreciated. I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> And if you ever want to reach out to me, you can also find me on tumblr at amjustagirl !
> 
> Much love <3


	6. Fire, fire burning bright

He is seventeen again. 

Practice is  _ hard _ especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from  _ her _ . His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘ _ the tragedy of latchkey kids- the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’. _

_ It can’t be,  _ he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen.  _ It can’t be,  _ he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV. 

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

_ (It can)  _

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

_ (It is)  _

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

_ (She’s dead)  _

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table. 

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut  _ burns _ from the realization that  _ she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it _ . 

_ Wait a minute.  _

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his  _ omamori _ , before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for  _ more time _ , a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot. 

_ (Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead) _

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the  _ ema _ , hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree. 

_ ‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me _ ’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer. 

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room. 

But t he problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

_ Damn it all  _ \- he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her  _ yesterday _ or is it her  _ today  _ \- he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done  _ this  _ countless times before, waking up in her body in her  _ yesterday _ while she wakes up in his  _ today  _ which resets when he then wakes up in his own body  _ tomorrow _ \- 

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it. 

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him. 

\----------------------------------------

He cracks his eyes open. 

_ Ah _ ,  _ he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust -  _

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead. 

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

_ ‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’  _ he hears her whimper.  _ ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both. _ ’

_ ‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened _ ’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words. 

_ ‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’ _

_ ‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’  _ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back. 

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist,  _ slams  _ his face back against the floor. 

_ Crack _ . 

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the  pain that blooms across his face. 

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm. 

_ ‘Don’t give in to him _ ’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before. 

_ Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think! _

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’ 

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have  _ some _ sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’. 

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade. 

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the  _ irori _ . This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it  _ hurts _ to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods  _ it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –  _

Thank the gods it  _ works _ , he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body,  _ what the hell is he going to do  _ – 

‘ _ Store room _ ’, he hears her gasp. 

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet. 

’ _ Move, Keiji _ ’, she shrieks, the  _ thud  _ of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously. 

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘ _ what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit _ ’, only stops to breathe when the lock  _ clicks _ in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage. 

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’ 

‘ _ What should we do? _ ’ he asks her desperately. 

_ ‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’ _

_ ‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’ _

_ ‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’ _

__ It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows  _ exactly _ what she means. ‘ _ You’ve got to be joking.’  _ He breathes, horrified. 

_ ‘Do you have any other ideas? _ ’ she retorts. 

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan. 

_ ‘Ready?’  _

_ ‘Ready when you are.’  _

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’. 

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience ( _ thank you, Bokuto-san _ ), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front. 

‘Stand back or I’ll set  _ you _ on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock. 

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from  _ her _ . It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s  _ mine _ to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather -  _ her nose _ ) and -  _ oh gods  _ pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat. 

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘ _ fire is life’ _ smoldering in his mind. The gods must feel  _ some pity _ for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

_ Everything goes up in flames.  _

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire  _ everywhere _ , and it _hurts, it hurts, it hurts -_ but he already knows what hell feels like, this is  _ nothing _ compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede. 

_ He’s alive. She’ll survive.  _

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well,  _ her  _ body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted. 

The grass rustles. The wind blows. 

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

_ Oh. Thank the gods.  _

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole. 

\----------------------------------------

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine. 

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and  _ he doesn’t know if either of them are or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead  _ – 

_ ‘ _ Keiji, you _ idiot _ .’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor. 

_ He’ll thank the gods, again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive -  _

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You  _ fool!  _ You  _ dummy! _ You scold me for being reckless, but what if  _ you  _ died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘ 

_ ‘ _ You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin. 

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled. 

His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean  _ you think so _ ?’ 

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’ 

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's a faint  _ beeping  _ of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’ 

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’ 

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m  _ here _ . You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’ 

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face. 

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ 

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’ 

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and _oh gods_ -

_ He’s in love with her _ .

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest. 

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals. 

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died - because he loves  _ her _ , this silly scrap of a girl. 

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words. 

_ I love you _ – he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – _ nay _ , for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry. 

His heart stutters to a painful stop. 

_ He can’t remember her name anymore _ . 

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank.  _ It can’t be _ . He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse. 

_ How could he have forgotten her name? _

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face. 

_ Beep _ . 

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the  _ Kodama _ in the trees echo his name.  _ Keiji,  _ they call.  _ Keiji,  _ she calls again. 

_ Beep _ . 

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes. 

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again -  _ Keiji, Keiji, Keiji _ and he wants to respond with her name, but  _ he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -.  _

_ Beep.  _

All his memories of  _ her _ are golden hued and bathed in starlight but slowly they wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s as hopeless as trying to capture the sea with his bare hands. 

_ Beep _ . 

He thinks of  _ her _ , dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light. 

_ Beep _ . 

He thinks of  _ her,  _ singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine. 

_ Beep _ . 

He thinks of  _ her _ , brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and  _ love _ \- and  _ gods -  _

_ Beep _ . 

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks - 

_ Beep.  _

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

_ Beep.  _

His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

_ Beep.  _

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes. 

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because  _ I love you _ \- I love  _ you,  _ you fool.’ 

_ Beep.  _

It’s the last memory he forgets of  _ her, _ her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind. 

_ Beep. Beep. Beep.  _

\----------------------------------------

He wakes up with a gasp. 

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole  _ decade _ since he was seventeen but _ finally _ \- he remembers _ her.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very, very much appreciated. I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> And if you ever want to reach out to me, you can also find me on tumblr at amjustagirl !
> 
> Much love <3


	7. Unbroken Vow

Memories start crashing back to him in waves. It crests against the hull of his shuddering heart. 

He isn’t sure how he manages to get himself back to his hotel room with his head in a daze. He must have retraced his path to cycle back to town by the light of the lone headlight of his bike - the rough carpet against the soles of his feet the only reminder that _this_ is his present, the blankets on his bed cocooning him from the impact of his freefall into the past. 

Sleep eludes him, until the sun is high in the sky. 

Memories of _her_ seeps back into his soul, slips beneath his skin and buries itself into his very bones. His mind is finally adrift in the ocean of their shared past, his thoughts finally lucid enough to encapsulate the magnitude of the miracle that is _her._

He does not waste time when he wakes, climbing onto the borrowed bike to explore familiar haunts - this time in his own skin, not _hers_. 

He finds the old wooden house razed to the ground, a hollow shell of its past self. Dandelions grow where her bedroom used to stand, bumblebees buzzing over the front yard. Only a decayed stump of wood remains from the letterbox. He wonders if he’s imagining ash in the sunken earth where the heath used to be. 

He revisits the egg farm, slices his thumb whilst examining the hole in barbed wire she taught him to smuggle through. He walks along the stream to the field of daffodils, burnished gold glimmering in the sun’s light. He hums her songs to the gods, climbs the pine trees to hear the wind sing, listens to the _Kodama_ echo it back at him. 

But the gods have a twisted sense of humour. He has his memories back, but he still cannot recall _her name._

He knows from his colleague that the authorities never disclosed her identity. The media followed suit, respecting her status as a minor to keep her name out of the news. While he’s grateful that she probably escaped the circus that would have otherwise ensued, it’s impossible for him to track her down without knowing her name. 

He refuses to believe she’s dead. That would be unspeakably cruel. 

As a last resort, he tries asking the innkeeper as he checks out, but her face only clouds with anger as she snatches his room keys from him. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’, she snarls even though it’s clear as day that she does. But then he notices her fingers are hardened and wrinkled from decades of use, the shelves behind the counter are covered with dried flowers and twisted ribbons. Her face is familiar - and he realises with a barely concealed gasp that her eyes, like her daughter’s, are hardened with a blaze of fire and hurt. 

So he retreats, muttering polite apologies as he takes his leave. 

He departs from the town without the key to the final mystery of her whereabouts, descending from its hilly slopes on a bus with himself as the sole passenger, with only his churning thoughts to distract him. He returns to the city overflowing with far too many people, all with little to no poetry in their souls.

He spends days combing through faded articles in dusty archives, searching for anything that might bear her name. He spends hours searching through the websites of every single florist in Hokkaido, sinking deeper into the depths of disappointment at every dead end he meets. 

‘Didn’t you go off on a holiday?’ Udai-sensei asks him curiously when he returns back to work. ‘I’m sorry but I gotta say, you look like shit. Did anything happen on your trip?’

‘I’m fine’ he lies through his teeth. ‘Just a little under the weather.’

The cracks in his heart yawn wider with each passing day. 

\----------------------------------------

His obsession distracts him from even weekly dinners from his parents’ house, until his mother calls to demand that ‘ _work be damned, he’s expected at their house for Obon at the very least_ ’. He doesn’t even realise it’s the end of August, time to celebrate the festival of the dead. 

So he returns home, helps his parents build the _shōryō-dana_ , altars of fruit, incense, and flowers for their deceased ancestors and any wandering spirits unable to attain peace. He accompanies his mother in cleaning his grandparents’ graves in the day, and lights the ancestral lanterns with fire at night. His cousins dance about the traditional bonfire in their backyard, but he excuses himself when they call him to join them, blaming the humidity of the summer air. 

His mother catches him before he manages to escape into his bedroom. ‘Keiji, could you duck out to pick up more flowers? I’m hoping to visit your grand-uncle’s grave tomorrow’, she asks, and ever the dutiful son, he acquiesces with a tired nod. 

Thankfully, his usual florist is still open even at this late hour. He ducks into her store, apologising as she startles from his sudden intrusion. She’s already cleaning up, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the collar of her high necked shirt unbuttoned, but she gives him a smile when he orders a sheaf of white chrysanthemums, ducking back under the counter to wrap the flowers.

He pauses as she passes him the blooms, gaze intent on the pink burn scars marring her hands and wrists, eyes tracing the faded marks creeping up her collarbones to her chin. He’s seen the scars on her hands before, but there’s a niggling sense that there’s something _familiar_ about them. 

‘ _Fire is life_ ’, he hears her voice. _Fire can also be death_ \- as he well knows. 

‘Do you need anything else, Akaashi-san?’ Her eyes are curious, but soft. 

‘No, thank you.’ He shakes his head hesitantly, turning on his heel. 

He’s on the edge of the street when he hears her raise her voice and call - ‘Toya-chan, have you finished your homework? It’s important to work hard and do well in your exams, you know?’ 

_He’s hallucinating. He must be._

But that doesn’t stop him from bursting back into the shop, pausing breathless before her. There’s a small pot of rosemary sitting on the counter. How could have been so blind, of course - _rosemary, for remembrance. He’s read her enough Shakespeare all those years ago for her to use that as a signal, in the hopes that he’d remember her._

‘I remember’, he declares, praying that he’s finally found _her_. 

Her eyes widen but she stays silent, waiting for him to speak. He moves his mouth, once, twice thrice - his tongue unable to capture the ocean of words his heart is overflowing with, so he settles for a simple apology -

‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting for so long’.

The years fall away from her face when she smiles. The dimple on her right cheek reappears. Her curls slip out of her headscarf.

‘Akaashi Keiji, you fool. I told you I’ll find you.’

It’s _her_. She’s no longer the ghost girl haunting his dreams, driving him to the brink of madness - _no_. She’s been within reach all this while and now she’s standing before him in the flesh. _Gods_ , it’s no wonder he couldn’t recognise her face - she’s grown more radiant with each passing spring, with each passing monsoon. He asks her for her name, recites each syllable with stanzas of tenderness, repeats it like a sacred verse.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting’, he then repeats in a daze, unable to say much else. He’s too busy taking in the magnitude of the miracle before him, drinking in the birdsong in her laughter and the blossoms in her cheeks.

‘Don’t be,’ she says, shaking her head, her curls slipping out of her headscarf. Liquid gold brims in her eyes. ‘It’s a lot shorter than the thousand years I promised to you after all.’

He echoes her laughter and tears, content. There will be time later for them to share their stories of fickle gods and misinterpreted wishes. There will be time later for him to trace the continents of scars branded on her body with reverent hands, for her to tell him her journey from a small mountain town to a flower shop in the largest city in the world.

For now, it’s enough that he’s finally holding _her_ in his arms - warm, laughing and alive, and he can start making up for their lost time together by telling her what he always intended to say all those years ago.

‘I love you’, he whispers against her lips, a hymn and battle cry all in one, murmuring it over and over again like a dying man’s desperate prayer. He does not need to raise his voice to declare his affection for her to the world, because she is his _world_ \- has been and always will be, until the end of time.

She whispers it back, a renewal of her vow to him, her promise that she will always be his.

The stars burn bright in her eyes. He marvels at their light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've finally come to the end of Dream Catcher. To all those who've taken time out of your busy schedules to read my humble fic, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'd love to hear what you think - so please, leave a comment about anything at all. 
> 
> You can also find me at amjustagirl on tumblr, where I can be found writing silly Hogwarts AUs for the Haikyuu boys and talking nonsense in general. Feel free to shout at me there too!
> 
> Much love <3


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